


To Leave or Be Left

by awkwardeye



Series: Second POV [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, POV Second Person, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardeye/pseuds/awkwardeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wonder if Kylo will return to you whenever he leaves</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Leave or Be Left

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm getting better at second pov. I only wrote this because I thought Kylo would look nice naked on a beach at night tbh.

To leave or to be left by the person you love, it doesn't matter; either way you'll be alone, filled to the brim with loneliness.

You never ask him if he's coming back. _Are you coming back?_ You think it, though, from the moment he appears until the moment he goes. _Leaves_. And when he's not beside you for so long that you fear he'll return only to find the sight of you unfamiliar, you wish you had asked. And when he returns to you, you want to ask, but you're afraid of the answer, of the possibility of the unspoken _I'm leaving you_. So you don't ask.

You know it's wrong: welcoming someone like him, but he's a kind alternative to being alone. When he's gone, there are worms crawling around in your stomach, tangling it in anxious knots that can only be soothed by the clumsy, harsh kisses he demands as if they already belong to him, as if _you_ belong to him. Perhaps, you _do_ belong to him. He's consuming you, seizing your thoughts and replacing them with fantasies of him like he's a surreal being who your fingers slip through instead of fall against.

You don't want to admit that you love him. For obvious reasons, of course. He's called Jedi Killer. His robes are often stained with blood. He can only visit under the cover of night (though his efforts at secrecy are wasted on your neighbors who know everything that goes on). And he doesn't love you. This is evident in the way he pulls your hair and twists your body into every position imaginable in the throes of passion. There's no love in the bruises that paint your body, no love in his crashing hips. There isn't room for affection with him.

Kylo Ren came to you in darkness. It had been one of the nights the heat swallowed that called for a midnight dive. You'd been vulnerable, warmer than usual and yearning for the kind of gentle caress necessary for easing your growing tension. The water soothed your burning skin as your thoughts turned from the anxiety one feels when they absolutely cannot be caught and lent themselves to fantasies of the gentle hands of a previous lover skimming your skin. Beneath the water, you could see the sky. Above it, you could only see the moon’s light reflected.

He didn't see you first, but he was aware of your presence long before you knew he was there. He watched the water for you to emerge as he rid himself of his clothing, growing more excited with every opportunity you gave him to admire your nude form. You noticed him as you returned to the shore. And you'd both stood bare and still. You were unsure and apprehensive. He strode confidently toward you, his length standing proud, and when he wrestled you to the ground he was unlike any other lover. What had previously been a swaying dance became an erotic battle he refused to lose. And he won on the shore with the waves lapping at his back as he infiltrated you like the kindest disease.

Kylo Ren knows you and wants you. He returns reaching for you and when he allows rare conversation, his words are vulgar, but as kind as he can be. His kisses are never soft, but sometimes he holds you close when you're disoriented with the haze of an orgasm and he lets you press soft kisses to his flushed face and cling to him. The only question is whether or not he loves you.

His eyes reveal nothing as he enters the kitchen, but they linger for a moment too long to mean nothing. He approaches slowly to push your robe off of your shoulders as you sip your tea. Murmuring something about preferring you this way, he stares shamelessly at your nude form.

“You must go,” he says.

You don't respond; you're surprised.

“Terrible things are coming and I,” he says, trailing off.

_Don't want to leave or be left behind?_

“You can't come with me,” he continues. There must be something that shifts in your expression because he adds, “It's for your safety. There are people who would hurt you to weaken me.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Know the words I'll never say. Save yourself,” he says, and his voice is so soft you almost believe the words between those spoken. But his eyes are cold again as he pushes you against the wall. “You can't tell anyone.” He says it like your life depends on it, but you sometimes wonder if you're only a secret for the sake of his reputation. All thoughts fade with his stroking of your sex.

To leave or to be left by the person you love, it doesn't matter when they won't admit that they love you. If you ask that nagging question, you’ll know the answer for once, but you'll wonder if he'll ever worry the same way.

You're crying when he kisses you and he tastes the tears on your lips, but refuses to pull away.

“I love you. Do you care?” you inquire softly.

“Do _you_ care?” Kylo asks.

"Yes.”

He leaves and you follow his advice. The next time he returns, his face is scarred and he's so cold. He knows before he touches you that you're chained now to him, but he doesn't mention the chain, only drops away for a few months. There's no gleam in his eyes when he holds his own creation, only fear. He promises to return only when he can stay, only when weakness no longer matters.

You think you should leave him, but he's leaving you before you can breathe. He leaves you without whispering the words you need to hear to you, but you see them on his lips when he kisses your child. Still, with withering lungs, you think from the moment he leaves,

 _Are you coming back_?


End file.
